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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. Interlude II.

Soon as the story reached its end,
One, over eager to commend,
Crowned it with injudicious praise;
And then the voice of blame found vent,
And fanned the embers of dissent
Into a somewhat lively blaze.

The Theologian shook his head;
'These old Italian tales,' he said,
'From the much-praised Decameron down
Through all the rabble of the rest,
Are either trifling, dull, or lewd;
The gossip of a neighborhood
In some remote provincial town,
A scandalous chronicle at best!
They seem to me a stagnant fen,
Grown rank with rushes and with reeds,
Where a white lily, now and then,
Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds
And deadly nightshade on its banks.'

To this the Student straight replied,
'For the white lily, many thanks!
One should not say, with too much pride,
Fountain, I will not drink of thee!
Nor were it grateful to forget,
That from these reservoirs and tanks
Even imperial Shakespeare drew
His Moor of Venice, and the Jew,
And Romeo and Juliet,
And many a famous comedy.'

Then a long pause; till some one said,
'An Angel is flying overhead!'
At these words spake the Spanish Jew,
And murmured with an inward breath:
'God grant, if what you say be true,
It may not be the Angel of Death!'
And then another pause; and then,
Stroking his beard, he said again:
'This brings back to my memory
A story in the Talmud told,
That book of gems, that book of gold,
Of wonders many and manifold,
A tale that often comes to me,
And fills my heart, and haunts my brain,
And never wearies nor grows old.'

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. Interlude VI.

All praised the Legend more or less;
Some liked the moral, some the verse;
Some thought it better, and some worse
Than other legends of the past;
Until, with ill-concealed distress
At all their cavilling, at last
The Theologian gravely said:
'The Spanish proverb, then, is right;
Consult your friends on what you do,
And one will say that it is white,
And others say that it is red.'
And 'Amen!' quoth the Spanish Jew.

'Six stories told! We must have seven,
A cluster like the Pleiades,
And lo! it happens, as with these,
That one is missing from our heaven.
Where is the Landlord? Bring him here;
Let the Lost Pleiad reappear.'

Thus the Sicilian cried, and went
Forthwith to seek his missing star,
But did not find him in the bar,
A place that landlords most frequent,
Nor yet beside the kitchen fire,
Nor up the stairs, nor in the hall;
It was in vain to ask or call,
There were no tidings of the Squire.

So he came back with downcast head,
Exclaiming: 'Well, our bashful host
Hath surely given up the ghost.
Another proverb says the dead
Can tell no tales; and that is true.
It follows, then, that one of you
Must tell a story in his stead.
You must,' he to the Student said,
'Who know so many of the best,
And tell them better than the rest.'

Straight by these flattering words beguiled,
The Student, happy as a child
When he is called a little man,
Assumed the double task imposed,
And without more ado unclosed
His smiling lips, and thus began.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Humbling / Parable of 'Kentucky Lucky

There once was a man,
Come from Kentucky.

He was the luckiest
Of the lucky.

He was better,
He was best.

He claimed to be higher
Than all the rest.

His favorite pastime
Was revelling in everything
He thought he knew.

Little did he relize,
He was about to recieve his due.

Nothing could happen to him!
He was The Elite.

But as he walked along,
He met a beggar in the street.

Said the beggar,
'A shekel, for a worthy cause? '

But Pride strutted by,
Without a pause.

Pride was a long way off,
When suddenly,
He ground to a stop.

For there stood the beggar,
Draped with downy wings,
And clad in robes of pure white!

Said foolish Pride,
'You are an angel,
And yet you asked of me,
A shekel? '

Then the angel replied,
'For a shekel, I did ask.
Just one little shekel,
'Twas all.'

'But you think it too humble a task.'

'Forget it!
A shekel, I do not need.'

'My Lord and God provides me all.'

As the angel turned to take leave,
Pride soon began to greive.

'Wait! ' cried Pride,
'Don't leave! '

'Come! '
'Eat! '

'Look! '
'I give you my all! '

Said the angel,
'Had you known
Who I really was
When I was poor,

You would not have turned me
From your door.'

'But - But, I! '...
Tried to reason Pride.

'Excuses', said the angel,
'Will not do you well,
Nor shall it justify your sin.'

'Now! , Look not upon earthly things,
But store up for yourslf teasures in Heaven.

'You can do this by serving God,
And not just looking out for yourself,
But by concerning yourself in the interests
of others.'

'But, Pride,
One thing you should remember above all' -

'Is that pride comes, before a fall.'

poem by Macy Dvirnak
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Book of Love

You giggle and your white teeth show
Your eyes so bright and want that I saw
Your voice so honeyed reads for me a story
I listen in ecstasy so expectant my heart flows
Your flowery words read your heart, it's a story

I'm won by this book, my head in pillow
So sweet the lullabies of a mother's baby days
A longing with power overtaking a soul's clouds
Warm as nectar birds' nest in cold days
I'm in a fort and in comfort all in this story
Fold not the book, read it over and over, it fills my soul.

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Lily-white Child

lily white child
hallow to thy fair
the twinklin bliss of thy eye
and beatific expression of thy face
to thy sublime innocent
in d spectrum of thy beauty

Ooh lily-white child
thy aesthetic opulency
like nebula of stars
in the terrain of rainbow

lily white child
smile like of heaven wide
sapphire teeth of angel
hallow to thy halo pure

lily white child
pure like distilled water.

poem by Samuel Francis Leumas
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Spanish Jew's Tale; The Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi

Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read
A volume of the Law, in which it said,
'No man shall look upon my face and live.'
And as he read, he prayed that God would give
His faithful servant grace with mortal eye
To look upon His face and yet not die.

Then fell a sudden shadow on the page,
And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim with age,
He saw the Angel of Death before him stand,
Holding a naked sword in his right hand.
Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man,
Yet through his veins a chill of terror ran.
With trembling voice he said, 'What wilt thou here?'
The angel answered, 'Lo! the time draws near
When thou must die; yet first, by God's decree,
Whate'er thou askest shall be granted thee.'
Replied the Rabbi, 'Let these living eyes
First look upon my place in Paradise.'

Then said the Angel, 'Come with me and look.'
Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book,
And rising, and uplifting his gray head,
'Give me thy sword,' he to the Angel said,
'Lest thou shouldst fall upon me by the way.'
The angel smiled and hastened to obey,
Then led him forth to the Celestial Town,
And set him on the wall, whence, gazing down,
Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living eyes,
Might look upon his place in Paradise.

Then straight into the city of the Lord
The Rabbi leaped with the Death-Angel's sword,
And through the streets there swept a sudden breath
Of something there unknown, which men call death.
Meanwhile the Angel stayed without and cried,
'Come back!' To which the Rabbi's voice replied,
'No! in the name of God, whom I adore,
I swear that hence I will depart no more!'

Then all the Angels cried, 'O Holy One,
See what the son of Levi here hath done!
The kingdom of Heaven he takes by violence,
And in Thy name refuses to go hence!'
The Lord replied, 'My Angels, be not wroth;
Did e'er the son of Levi break his oath?
Let him remain; for he with mortal eye
Shall look upon my face and yet not die.'

Beyond the outer wall the Angel of Death
Heard the great voice, and said, with panting breath,
'Give back the sword, and let me go my way.'
Whereat the Rabbi paused, and answered, 'Nay!
Anguish enough already hath it caused
Among the sons of men.' And while he paused
He heard the awful mandate of the Lord
Resounding through the air, 'Give back the sword!'

The Rabbi bowed his head in silent prayer;
Then said he to the dreadful Angel, 'Swear,
No human eye shall look on it again;
But when thou takest away the souls of men,
Thyself unseen, and with an unseen sword,
Thou wilt perform the bidding of the Lord.'
The Angel took the sword again, and swore,
And walks on earth unseen forevermore.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Had Cell Phone Been

Had cell phone been,
In Shakespeare's age;
Would there have been,
Deaths in tragedy's page?
If Romeo and Juliet had,
Their personal hand set,
They could have talked,
And never been so upset!
Juliet must have given,
Romeo, missed call, on and on,
Romeo, rining her back,
Would not drink the vial of poison.
It might not turn into a tragedy.
Rather we could tell it tragi-comedy!

poem by Nilakshi Das
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Three Flowers

I made a little song about the rose
And sang it for the rose to hear,
Nor ever marked until the music's close
A lily that was listening near.

The red red rose flushed redder with delight,
And like a queen her head she raised.
The white white lily blanched a paler white,
For anger that she was not praised.

Turning I left the rose unto her pride,
The lily to her enviousness,
And soon upon the grassy ground espied
A daisy all companionless.

Doubtless no flattered flower is this, I deemed;
And not so graciously it grew
As rose or lily: but methought it seemed
More thankful for the sun and dew.

Dear love, my sweet small flower that grew'st among
The grass, from all the flowers apart,-
Forgive me that I gave the rose my song,
Ere thou, the daisy, hadst my heart!

poem by William Watson
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Interlude I.

'O Edrehi, forbear to-night
Your ghostly legends of affright,
And let the Talmud rest in peace;
Spare us your dismal tales of death
That almost take away one's breath;
So doing, may your tribe increase.'

Thus the Sicilian said; then went
And on the spinet's rattling keys
Played Marianina, like a breeze
From Naples and the Southern seas,
That brings us the delicious scent
Of citron and of orange trees,
And memories of soft days of ease
At Capri and Amalfi spent.

'Not so,' the eager Poet said;
'At least, not so before I tell
The story of my Azrael,
An angel mortal as ourselves,
Which in an ancient tome I found
Upon a convent's dusty shelves,
Chained with an iron chain, and bound
In parchment, and with clasps of brass,
Lest from its prison, some dark day,
It might be stolen or steal away,
While the good friars were singing mass.

'It is a tale of Charlemagne,
When like a thunder-cloud, that lowers
And sweeps from mountain-crest to coast,
With lightning flaming through its showers,
He swept across the Lombard plain,
Beleaguering with his warlike train
Pavia, the country's pride and boast,
The City of the Hundred Towers.'

Thus heralded the tale began,
And thus in sober measure ran.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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White Angel

There's a white angel out there
Out there somewhere
It'll blow away the darkness
Let is bright light shine

There's a white angel out there
With gold encrested wings
A white halo of leaves
They only show certain people they're their angel

There's a white angel out there
One for each of us
Be they a friend to save you
Or a true being of Heaven

There's a white angel out there
Just let them find you please
They'll show you light
They'll save you from dark

There's a white angel out there
Just let them break through thier darkness
Let them gain those wings
And you'll see them waiting

There's a white angel out there
Just you wait and see

March 2006

poem by Gee Cii Schnider
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Romeo Vs Juliet

Romeo: I'm searching for another woman
Juliet : You think I'm innocent young girl
Romeo: In my enemy's house party
Juliet : Why are you looking love when there's only hatred?
Romeo: You are rose that has many thorns
Juliet : I know you are under my balcony
Romeo: So I say I will throw my name
Juliet : Am I that fool to believe sweet words?
Romeo: We swear love when there's only hatred
Juliet : I lost my cousin for your tragic friend
Romeo: They are too honest and brave to follow our game
Juliet : You leave me with another spoiled boy
Romeo: There's not other ways besides runaway
Juliet : For whom this trick I must play now?
Romeo: You don't tell me before I drink my poison
Juliet : You don't tell me before I stab my heart
Romeo & Juliet: Could this pain be love when there's only hatred?

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Tears of a Lie

When a new day blooms
Clouds shall began to roam the skies
A birth of a angel booms
An other angel will die soon

Clouds began to gather around a angel's cry
Darken and filled with lies
The clouds began to weep for an angel's life
Their tears will fall down in strides

For each truth an cloud cry
It shall crash and splash into a thousand lies
A death of an angel
For a birth of a devil

When you know the story of a angel's life
Filled with sadness, it may make you cry
Each angel contains the truth of living a life
The angel's cries will turn the truth to a lie

Each angel will pass a story on
Pass a story by a sad song
For each story an angel's work in life
Will bring tears even to Lie's eyes

(5-12-10)

poem by Elisha De La Rosa
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Romeo Loves Juliet

Sitting on the balcony sipping on her herbal tea
Thats juliet, juliet
Talking on her mobile phone doesnt like to be alone
Thats juliet, juliet
And if she wont hang up or put down that cup
Hows that girl ever gonna know
That romeo, romeo loves juliet
Romeo, romeo loves juliet
Wishing her life away nothing left for me to say
About juliet, juliet
I dont wanna know let the poison steel the show
For juliet, juliet
And if she cant see the wood for the trees
Hows that girl ever gonna know
That romeo, romeo loves juliet
Romeo, romeo loves juliet
Love keeps no time but life slips through your fingers
Love has no design but its memory lingers
Romeo, romeo loves juliet
Romeo, romeo loves juliet
Romeo, romeo loves juliet
Romeo, romeo, romeo loves juliet

song performed by by Rick Astley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Interlude VII.

Touched by the pathos of these rhymes,
The Theologian said: 'All praise
Be to the ballads of old times
And to the bards of simple ways,
Who walked with Nature hand in hand,
Whose country was their Holy Land,
Whose singing robes were homespun brown
From looms of their own native town,
Which they were not ashamed to wear,
And not of silk or sendal gay,
Nor decked with fanciful array
Of cockle-shells from Outre-Mer.'

To whom the Student answered: 'Yes;
All praise and honor! I confess
That bread and ale, home-baked, home-brewed,
Are wholesome and nutritious food,
But not enough for all our needs;
Poets--the best of them--are birds
Of passage; where their instinct leads
They range abroad for thoughts and words,
And from all climes bring home the seeds
That germinate in flowers or weeds.
They are not fowls in barnyards born
To cackle o'er a grain of corn;
And, if you shut the horizon down
To the small limits of their town,
What do you but degrade your bard
Till he at last becomes as one
Who thinks the all-encircling sun
Rises and sets in his back yard?'

The Theologian said again:
'It may be so; yet I maintain
That what is native still is best,
And little care I for the rest.
'T is a long story; time would fail
To tell it, and the hour is late;
We will not waste it in debate,
But listen to our Landlord's tale.'

And thus the sword of Damocles
Descending not by slow degrees,
But suddenly, on the Landlord fell,
Who blushing, and with much demur
And many vain apologies,
Plucking up heart, began to tell
The Rhyme of one Sir Christopher.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Lily Adair

On the beryl-rimmed rebecs of Ruby,
Brought fresh from the hyaline streams,
She played, on the banks of the Yuba,
Such songs as she heard in her dreams.
Like the heavens, when the stars from their cyries
Look down through the ebon night air,
Were the groves by the Ouphantic Fairies
Lit up for my Lily Adair—
For my child-like Lily Adair—
For my heaven-born Lily Adair—
For my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

Like two rose-leaves in sunshine when blowing,
Just curled softly, gently apart,
Were her lips by her passion, while growing
In perfume on the stalk of her heart.
As mild as the sweet influences
Of the Pleiades 'pregning the air—
More mild than the throned Excellencies
Up in heaven, was my Lily Adair—
Was my Christ-like Lily Adair—
Was my lamb-like Lily Adair—
Was my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

At the birth of this fair virgin Vestal,
She was taken for Venus' child;
And her voice, though like diamond in crystal,
Was not more melodious than mild.
Like the moon in her soft silver splendor,
She was shrined in her own, past compare,
For no Angel in heaven was more tender
Than my beautiful Lily Adair—
Than my dove-like Lily Adair—
Than my saint-like Lily Adair—
Than my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

Thus she stood on the arabesque borders
Of the beautiful blossoms that blew
On the banks of the crystalline waters,
Every morn, in the diaphane dew.
The flowers, they were radiant with glory,
And shed such perfume on the air,
That my soul, now to want them, feels sorry,
And bleeds for my Lily Adair—
For my much-loved Lily Adair—
For my long-lost Lily Adair—
For my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

poem by Thomas Holley Chivers (1853)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Kiss Thee Oh Angel

You stand there in but the moonlight,
your eyes shimmering in the night.

The curves of your lips,
so captivating, so enriched.

Your hair a fiery amber,
just flowing through the wind.

Kiss thee oh angel,
grant thee thy wish.

Kiss thee oh angel,
let me charrish your lips.

Kiss thee oh angel,
just one kiss i wish.

Your heavenly smile,
so gentle, so calm.

Your gentle heart,
pounding a melody in my ear.

Your hands of silk,
to brush to my cheek.

Kiss thee oh angel,
grant thee thy wish.

Kiss thee oh angel,
let me charrish your lips.

Kiss thee oh angel,
just one kiss i wish.

Let me hold you oh angel,
and show you my world.

Let me breathe you oh angel,
and show you love.

Let me dance with you oh angel,
and show you true magic.

Let me kiss you oh angel,
and prosper in joy.

poem by Darlene Belcher
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Abou Ben Adhem

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said
"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still, and said "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

Anonymous Submission

poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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Bring Back The Memories

Baby you were in my
Dream
We were walking down
The street
Baby I heard in a melody
Its like a blast from the
Past
Let our story take us back
To the way that it used to
Be
Back to bobbys house and
Then my house
The asking whats your name
Pledging my love over soda pops
And loving you more and more
Everyday
Let the dj play that special
Song again
Lets bring back the memories
Hey there lonely girl
Ill be your duke of earl
Cause thats how it used to
Be
I keep thinking how it must
Have been
It wasnt so long ago
Everything was so simple then
When I loved you with all me
Heart and soul
In the book of love
Were a million to one
Lets bring back the memories
My earth angel
Leave a story to tell
Lets bring back these used to bes
I can make up each and every scence
Ill do-wop and then laugh at me
And Id like to rewrite my whole
Story
With you by my side
In the still of the night
I want to know that youre mine
So bring back those memories
Bring back those memories
Were a thousand miles away
Bring back the memories
Earth angel
Earth angel
Will you be mine
Bring back the memories
Bring back the memories
(fade till end)

song performed by by New Edition
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Golden Rose

A POOR lost princess, weary and worn,
Came over the down by the wind-washed moor,
And the king looked out on her grace forlorn,
And he took her in at his palace door.

He made her queen, he gave her a crown,
Bidding her rest and be glad and gay
In his golden town, with a golden gown,
And a new gold lily every day.

But the crown is heavy, the gold gown gray,
And the queen's pale breast is like autumn snows;
For he brings a gold lily every day,
But no king gathers the golden rose.

One came at last to the palace keep
By worlds of water and leagues of land,
Gray were his garments, his eyes were deep,
And he held the golden rose in his hand.

She left gold gown, gold town, gold crown,
And followed him straight to a world apart,
And he left her asleep on the wind-washed down,
With the golden rose on her quiet heart.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Angel Of Death

Words and music by hank williams, sr.
Capo: 2nd fret key: e play: d
In the [d] great book of john - you're [g] warned of the [d] day
When you'll be laid - beneath the cold [a7] clay
The [g] angel of [d] death - will [g] come from the [d] sky
And claim your poor soul - when the [a7] time comes to [d] die.
Chorus
When the angel of death - comes [g] down after [d] you
Can you smile and say - that you have been [a7] true
Can you [g] truthfully [d] say - with [g] your dying [d] breath
That you're ready to meet - the [a7] angel of [d] death.
When the [d] lights all grow dim - and the [g] dark shadows [d] creep
And then your loved ones - are gathered to [a7] weep
Can you [g] face them and [d] say - with [g] your dying [d] breath
That you're ready to meet - the [a7] angel of [d] death.
Chorus

song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lily Confidante

Lily! lady of the garden!
Let me press my lip to thine!
Love must tell its story, Lily!
Listen thou to mine.

Two I choose to know the secret --
Thee, and yonder wordless flute;
Dragons watch me, tender Lily,
And thou must be mute.

There's a maiden, and her name is . . .
Hist! was that a rose-leaf fell?
See, the rose is listening, Lily,
And the rose may tell.

Lily-browed and lily-hearted,
She is very dear to me;
Lovely? yes, if being lovely
Is -- resembling thee.

Six to half a score of summers
Make the sweetest of the "teens" --
Not too young to guess, dear Lily,
What a lover means.

Laughing girl, and thoughtful woman,
I am puzzled how to woo --
Shall I praise, or pique her, Lily?
Tell me what to do.

"Silly lover, if thy Lily
Like her sister lilies be,
Thou must woo, if thou wouldst wear her,
With a simple plea.

"Love's the lover's only magic,
Truth the very subtlest art;
Love that feigns, and lips that flatter,
Win no modest heart.

"Like the dewdrop in my bosom,
Be thy guileless language, youth;
Falsehood buyeth falsehood only,
Truth must purchase truth.

"As thou talkest at the fireside,
With the little children by --
As thou prayest in the darkness,
When thy God is nigh --

"With a speech as chaste and gentle,
And such meanings as become
Ear of child, or ear of angel,
Speak, or be thou dumb.

"Woo her thus, and she shall give thee
Of her heart the sinless whole,
All the girl within her bosom,
And her woman's soul."

poem by Henry Timrod
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